Leaderboard

Well, being a peakbagger....I don't repeat! My first mountain was the South Sister in Oregon....with my dad. Probably around 1983.

Me on the summit of Sahale, back when I had hair, September 1995. Cotton jeans and flannel!

Trip: Colfax Peak - The Polish Route Trip Date: 02/09/2025 Trip Report: "ILLUSION OF CHOICE" Kulshan and it's trusty sentinel. I stared at the line, tracing every section, noting unique features on the ice, taking inventory of everything I would need to pull through. The obsession was predictable. The route pulled me in singing a siren song of steep ice, promising views, and unbelievable positioning. It overtook me in a way I couldn’t quite articulate, in the way that only something brutally difficult and just within reach can do. I always want what I can’t have. I had been to the base of the climb two weeks prior and watched another party live out my dream. The climb was right there in front of me, but I was unable to interact with it. I lived the following weeks in its shadow, playing through the moves in my head instead of sleeping, going through my gear in the evenings like some sacred ritual. I had studied everything there was to study, I knew all there was to know about it - Nothing remained, except commitment. The alarm ruptures the stillness, a violence in the dark. I fumble for the headlamp, hands still clumsy with sleep. The air inside the truck is sharp and crystals glisten on my sleeping bag from the condensation. I briefly question the sanity of crawling out of the bag. I force down half a frozen donut with a caffeine pill, choke back some icy water, and tighten by boots with fingers that are already stiff. The first steps are always slow, heavy with doubt, the mind still tangled in the warmth left behind. The woods engulf me and Murray, our torch beams carve tunnels through the void, giving us a path to follow. Deadfall crunches beneath our feet and the glacier waits patiently. The woods release us and we weave through crevasses and serac debris. The stars burn above, unfeeling to the smallness of our effort. Pitches 1-2. Credit: Murray P. The first pitch was a wake-up call. Brittle and unapologetic; it kicked back harder than I expected, forcing me to fight to get purchase in the alpine ice. I didn’t believe the stories from the people that had climbed this before, about how variable the ice is up here. ‘How hard can vertical ice be?’ I naively thought. It was brutally violent to get a good stick and even harder to get decent screws. I lost count after five hollow screws and starting clipping them anyways. Part of me didn’t want to give Murray the impression I was struggling up here and the other part of me felt that if I fell, I deserved the bergschrund. It’s the flavor of climbing that demands you stay calm even when you feel the weight of the runout beneath your spikes. I was relieved when the rope came taught, signalling i could stop climbing and build an anchor. Share the burden, share the psych, and get a much-needed mental break from leading. Pitches 3-4. The Crux. Connected...still hard. A couple pitches later, the upper pillar arrived like a slow, inevitable tide. It was always there but now it was within reach. I could feel its gravity as I racked up. The lower ice appeared fat, but revealed itself as unreliable. I'd strike it and watch the fractures spiderweb outward, the sound hollow and unconvincing. Squeak, squeak, squeak, when I pried them out to retry for another swing. No easy way through. My calves were screaming, my forearms red hot. I knew I had to continue, I wasn’t even at the difficult part, yet my body was begging me for respite. I charged and got a stance below the crux, much needed rest...finally. The curtain hung over me like a guillotine, reminding me of the seriousness. Crux looming. Pitch Four. No hands rest. Our Skis visible on the glacier. I tossed aside any remaining fear, threw up the horns at Murray, and quested up the wild three-dimensional ice. After a couple body lengths, the familiar fire crept back into my arms. I wanted to climb it clean, I wanted to send, but the ice didn’t care. Pride is a useless currency up here, so I swallowed it whole, and clipped a tool. I hung there, weighting it just enough to drill a screw, and try to get the lava in my forearms to subside. My arms burned, but the pit in my stomach felt worse. I came here to climb, not to dangle like a tourist. But I wasn’t quitting, I wasn’t wasting this chance. I kept moving. I tried to keep my breathing steady, not letting the tension in my mind translate to my body. But the moment came—a simple shake out on a matched tool, something I had done hundreds of times before. In an instant I was airborne, cursing before the rope broke my fall. I slammed into the curtain, my right hip taking the brunt of it. I hung there for what felt like an eternity, choking down the frustration and stunned at how careless I was being. A fall on ice is a cardinal sin, and to do it in the alpine – unforgivable. I was disgusted with myself for not being stronger, not working harder in the months leading up to this, for tainting our send with a fall and clipped tools. I was ashamed but also guilty; I had taken the lead from Murray and made a mess of it. No time to cry…the sun was getting lower with every excuse I uttered aloud and to myself in my head. I pulled the rope back in and reset my feet. Swing. Placement. Breathe. Swing again. My tools vibrated in the curtain after every solid stick. I fought for every inch on the pitch and eventually when the angle eased, I was treated to some glorious neve. I only had two screws left so I pushed to an ice blob where I could bring Murray up. I could feel my heart pounding in my fingertips. I wanted to let out some kind of battle cry, but I knew better. This was just a small win, if you could even call it that. The route continued upward, unaware of my private hell. Hero swings above the crux. Credit: Murray P. We finished out the last 2 ice steps, quickly, but in the dark now. We coiled the rope and made a break for the ridge line, treading carefully in the unprotectable steep snow. We both stared at the summit. It’s only a short hike up and back, but I knew we weren’t going there—we couldn’t. It was dark, It was cold, and we needed to get off this thing as soon as possible. We traversed right past it and continued towards the planned descent. The cold sun had left us and the mountain reminded us who was really in control. Hands freezing, toes numb, and blanketed in the fresh moonlight, we hastily dropped back towards our skis. Our ticket home. Dusk on Lincoln Peak. Credit: Murray P. The silence at the base was heavy, the kind that only manifests after pushing yourself past the limit. This had been everything I wanted. This climb had consumed me, occupied my thoughts for weeks, dictated my training, my sleep, my diet. And now it was done. I should have felt something. Pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief. Instead, there was nothing. A quiet, empty space took hold where something should have been. And maybe that was worse. Because if this wasn’t it—if this didn’t fill that void—then what would? Maybe if I had climbed it in better style, or made better time, or hadn’t screwed it all up with a fall, it would’ve been enough. I’ll never know that answer. I clicked into my skis and took one last look at Colfax. The frozen waterfall was dancing in the moonlight, but it was already fading away. With every second, the climb became more memory than experience, a tale that gets told rather than an idea living inside me. The melancholy quickly retreated after the first few powder turns and didn’t return until I got a ski stuck in a creek bed a couple miles later. Gear Notes: 14 screws, 12 draws, 1 picket, Rack o Nutz. Approach Notes: Drove to the last pullout before the Heliotrope Ridge Trailhead, bathroom still not blocked in. Booted a mile or so on the summer trail then transitioned to skis and continued on the CD route until reaching Colfax. To descend, we traversed eastward along the North flank of Colfax, eventually reaching the Kulshan-Colfax col and could drop back down to the glacier.

I'm coming up on fifty years of climbing in the PNW and, God willing, might be able to repeat a trip or two from the late 1970s. Hiked up my first summit, Bearhead Mountain, in 1975 and will do it again this summer with my grandkids. A couple more years until my Rainier jubilee--and I'd love to repeat Adams Glacier in 2029. I stood on my first glacier in 1974--but, sadly, Anderson Glacier is no more. Anyone here have climbs they've repeated 50 years later? 40 years later? Then & now photos?

My first summit "climb" (actually, hike with a short exposed section) was as at 12 (1972) with my dad of Mt Pugh. I was hooked. My first glaciated pk was Mt Olympus at 13, again with my dad and some of his associates. I met my good friend and climbing partner/inspiration, Roger, in 7th grade at the first meeting of the Edmonds Jr. High Climbing Club. That year Roger climbed Liberty Ridge with Bill Sumner and Dusan Jagersky. I remember when he came into our mechanical drawing class after that with his severely sunburned face. I was in total awe. We were going to climb Liberty Ridge in 2023 on the 50th anniversary, but the route was already "out" by Memorial Day weekend when the White River road opened and we settled for The Kautz. It's been a good run. Hoping for a few more repeats. Pics : with my good friend Will on Mt Pugh 50 years after the 1st time, climbing "ice" at Lake Serene (what a great haircut), Mt Olympus 1973 (my dad far left),

I guess I better head up Mt. Angeles again in 2026, I think that will be 30 yrs for the first time I roped up on a peak. Ironically we used goldline with a bowline around the waist for a 4th class step which was anachronistic even for 1996.

Trip: Banks Lake - Spice Rack M10+ (a Salt and Pepper direct start) Trip Date: 02/17/2025 Trip Report: This line struck me the first time I visited banks. By no means an original thought, every mixed climbing pervert who ever drove by also looked at it and felt their pants tighten. How we got so lucky came down to three factors: great weather, getting passed over on a trip to the Rockies (I’m over it now), and JJ’s advertisement of his OnlyFans during a UIAA comp- resulting in a season ban. Looking for a cathartic substitute we pivoted to suffering upward. For the uninitiated, Salt and Pepper is the existing WI5 line conventionally approached via a short 5th class traverse from the left. This direct start provides two amazing mixed pitches and 15-25m of bonus ice depending on the main dagger's condition. Weekend 1: @ColonelCrag aka Christian Junkar, and JJ, aka Jedrzej Jablonski began this attempt’s reconnaissance in early Feb, aiding the start of pitch 1 to assess feasibility, then rap bolting an intermediate anchor at the dagger, along with a few permadraws in the roof. I joined for a caffeine induced day trip from Seattle, attempting to lead from the bottom. Several whips and rock releases later, the drill came up pitch 1. With dwindling sun, the p1 highpoint was fixed with an orange rope. Salt and Pepper’s main dagger was the biggest we’ve ever seen, adding 25m of ice climbing to the standard route. Weekend 2, Day 1: (More Development) Government Worker's Weekend (previously known as Presidents’) provided an ideal weather window with a cold snap in the single digits followed by several days of stabilizing temps. As expected, the dagger snapped. Left, right and middle towards the wall cleaved off, leaving just the optimal contact area at the wall and a thin curtain with a shower in the middle. Maybe 10m of bonus ice disappeared, forcing the line to continue further up the p2 rock roof, gaining the ice with several overhanging moves. The fixed orange rope had been buried by the breaking dagger, with perhaps 15m of it claimed by fallen ice. The visible rope was cut, leaving the buried rope to be fished out from the fall’s pool in summertime. We continued the development with Tom bolting bottom up and leading some sections, JJ bolting top-down, we met at the p1 anchor… dodging icefall from the roof releasing throughout the day. Typing this a week later, I still feel my back from top-stepping aiders while bolting overhead in the p1 roof. Meanwhile, Christian was rewarded for his patient belay with a micro-trax solo of the first two pitches on a fixed line and cleaned as much as possible with the given daylight. Day 2: (Send day) We slept in and began around noon. Christian led pitch 1 and easily danced up the pitch while tossing loose rocks over his shoulder. Having recently competed in finals at the Ouray Mixed Comp, his base strength and finesse made it look much easier than reality. JJ followed, while clipping a second single rope for me as the third, allowing us to “siege” or “caterpillar” the line. We opted for two single ropes as opposed to twins, for the ease of manipulation in the p2 roof. In retrospect, either method would work fine- though a twin rope might have too much give if you fell while following in the p2 roof to get back on. The pitch 1 dagger and subsequent traverse remain exposed to falling rock and ice and act as a decisive hazard crux following the technical crux. At the p1 anchor, we hauled a pig via tag line on the last climber. (The pig rested on the far right side of the anchor ledge, waiting to be tagged up to the p2 anchor belay cave. This pig contained water, snax, and normal boots and pons for JJ and CJ, who opted to wear comp boots for p1 and p2. I opted to wear normal boots and my standard 1100g development pons, and was not prepared for the resultant level of suffering.) JJ boldly led out p2, with delicate feet and only minor grunting in the power crux (a full stretch stein to v-notch). Leading the final 15m of ice in comp boots and no secondaries must have been terrible, considering the ice required heavy cleaning. JJ might have placed a single screw in the ice, then levitated to the belay cave on the right side. Once we gathered at p2 anchor, the pig joined us, only getting caught briefly on the dagger. With happy feet we finished the ice pitches about 4:30pm, the only snag being a brutal 3-man rope pull from the ground. The intermediate anchor needs improvement as noted elsewhere. Beers and ice cream followed, celebrating both the send and our luck. Route P1 M8+ 30m 8 bolts, 2-3 screws, 2 knife blades, .2-.4; belay from a bolt and ice screws on the ledge to the left of the first bolt. 10’ of choss gives way to better rock and generous bolts, then gains the left side of the dagger to the shelf, going right to one more bolt and connecting ice blobs to the upper shelf. Stubbies or knifeblades would be helpful in the upper ice. Bolted belay ledge includes a rap ring for bail. A single 60m can rap to the ledge, walking / downclimbing the rest of the way. P2 M10+ 30m 4 screws, 10 bolts, 7 permadraws… so bring 2 draws for hangers without permas, and draws for screws. We placed 2 screws and used 2 at the anchor. Climb rock for a move or two up towards the first bolt until you can step onto the dagger left. Traverse daggers for a couple of moves (screw optional) and then enter the roof following bolts leading to the upper dagger. Recommended to go left on the dagger and then back right to belay in a cave on the right of the main flow. This route could be aided after the starting dagger. P3 wi5 main flow P4 10m wi4 3min walk to the back of your lazy susan where the forgotten spices and flours remain untouched. Rap: V-thread from the top of P4. Bolted anchor on top of p3 to the right side. Double 60 to intermediate rap chains (located where p2 gains ice on the right side of the flow. This anchor needs fixing… the 6mm chain was too short and makes for high friction pull (3 men, 1 rope). Second ascent party should add quick links compatible with 6mm chain and rap rings. From here, a double 60m rap easily touches down. Gear Notes: Screws, KBs, .2-.4, draws, double 60m. Approach Notes: Start at the back of the cave, expect ice/rock shedding until at the start.

The right couloir of 11300 is an excellent route. A significant step up from the SW ridge but not much harder than ham and eggs, especially if you retreat from the ridge and skip the Alaskan ridge adventure to the summit. I posted about it in 2016 and I’m not sure if anyone else has done it since. It deserves more traffic!

Pretty sure Oregon volcano snowpacks are doing great this year! Butttt who knows how the spring warmup will go and what the weather will be like for the days you're around? I wouldn't recommend buying plane tickets to do specific objectives up here in the spring, but if you are flexible and could pivot to still have fun if you can't do these specific peaks, then great! I haven't been up Jefferson before and I love skiing and have technical snow and ice experience, so if the timing works out I could get stoked on it! Send me a message with your phone number and a few paragraphs about your climbing experience, specifically steep snow and ice!

Trip: Mount Garfield - Southwest Route Trip Date: 08/31/2024 Trip Report: "As has been reported elsewhere, Garfield is a hazardous enigma. It offers more than a climb, for it is also a physical and orienteering challenge. It is important to get a very early start. While a 12-hour r.t. is generally considered a minimum, only during the long days of summer will there be sufficient daylight for what is a long, steep climb, with some very exposed areas." -Fred Beckey, Cascade Alpine Guide I first read the section above in the 1990s when I was just getting into climbing and frankly was both attracted and scared by the photos and descriptions in the Beckey guide. An early trip report by @CascadeClimber and @philfort did little to dissuade my apprehension of this peak and so it sat for decades on the back burner. Always there, always taunting, even long after I probably had acquired enough chossdawgery skillz to make an ascent a reasonable goal. Turns out, two of my long-time climbing partners felt the same, and somehow it came to all of our attentions this year that Garfield could no longer be ignored. In the words of @Trent, "It must be climbed!" Secretly, I was hoping that @klenke was still correct and the the route was dumbed down by a bootpath and flagging. But I wasn't so lucky- he can rest easy on the golf course or the workfloor of the Lazy B, knowing that the brush has returned, the flagging rotted away, and that the blue collar masses have moved on (or died?). This peak is probably once again nearly as lonesome as it was when Fred first penned those words (the register went back to 1987 and traffic really has dropped off the past 10-15 years). I can honestly report that it is proper challenge for a Cascades Connoisseur such as those that frequent this esteemed site. (If you want hardman or hardwoman points, read no further and just photocopy the pages out of Brown Fred for your trip. If you're someone like me....read on) But we didn't know any of that when @therunningdog, @Trent and I rolled into the "gravel wash" that marks the start of this 4500' off trail adventure, late on a Friday night in Trent's old VW camper (nickname "Speedy"). There was another car camping there, but given the smoking and drinking we were pretty sure that they weren't heading to Garfield in the morning. Then again, I think a late evening of smoking and drinking would probably have been fitting preparation for the peak. Next time. Alarms were set for crazy early, I think about 430, since we had heard ample stories of unplanned bivies, thrashing exits in the dark, and general mini-epics. We were thinking 13-15 hours would be about what it would take and planned accordingly. But it turns out, us old dogs (combined team age of 158) can still beat Beckey and we were back to the van in about 11.5 hours, including breaks. The early start gave us extra time for beer and chips, so it wasn't all for naught. To be honest, the way up was mostly a blur. A dark gravel wash to an impassible set of falls started things. We went left into the forest when we should have gone right (be sure to keep that Beckey topo in your pocket and consult at all junctures!) and then I somehow thought that the real "dirt gully" below, wasn't the right dirt gully and kept going past it. Trent and Tim kindly put us back on the right track without too much wasted time The "dirt gully" wasn't that bad, but it wasn't that good either. You don't want to be on this mountain with more than about 4 people. 2-3 is about right so you can move as one team. Shortly after the gully you climb up and hit some slabs that force you left. We went all the way left then found a weakness to scramble up and right back towards the ridge crest which is below the "rock outcrop" and "razorback" that you hit right before the "tiny notch". You will be referring to the topo many times in this section, wondering where in the hell you are while looking way down into the "Great Canyon". It is a wild mountain. Soon enough you will come to the "glade saddle" where you will see a short gully leading to the "wooded ramp": which will take you to the brushy "key ledge" where you will be thankful for the brush for hiding the significant exposure. The brush will also distract you from the fatality that occurred in this spot, presumably due to the "trecherous footing" that Beckey describes: And then the meat of it, the "no. 1 Gully is reached, with the "no. 2 Gully" just beyond it: We had already chosen no. 1 Gully as our line, even though Fred describes it as the alternate path up, mostly due to a few of the more recent TRs we dug up which we compared to older no. 2 Gully TRs. I am sure that both have their pluses and minuses. The no. 1 Gully starts out easy, but then a step is encountered where @Trent ably put the rope up for Tim and I. It was a bit trickier than it looked with polished rock and moss. I sort of wanted to do a shoulder stand in the spirit of this peak, but unfortunately I was the last one up. So I grunted and lurched my way up. Then it was mostly easy 2nd and 3rd class scrambling until you had to turn right under the Leaning Spire to ascend slabs to a small col that dropped you halfway up the no. 2 gully. Here the way got harder with some slabby 4th mixed in with the slabby 3rd. We were in boots/approach shoes, which I think is the correct footwear for this route. The slabbyness isn't sustained or hard enough to warrant rock shoes. Plus rock shoes are definitely not blue collar! Style matters. Soon enough we were established in the no. 2 Gully and began to chug upwards to the "crux" chimneys. The first one we soloed: The next one, @Trent led, again. It was wet and involved a lot of grunting and pack dragging. Still, I think it is preferable to the variations that others have reported to the right. The notch between the Leaning Spire and the summit was easily reached after the chimneys, and here we went a bit too far left. You basically want to go straight up a cl. 3-4 slab above the col until you can burrow into a brush tunnel (complete with trimmed branches!) that will take you up and left to the summit ridge. A short walk right will land you on the true summit. If ever there was a peak where the summit was "halfway", Garfield is it! We dug out the register and marveled at who had signed in over the years. Some famous climbers in there and it was fun to take the trip back in time. The views weren't half bad either. It is a long way down to the Middle Fork and the van, less than two miles horizontally from the top. But, like most summits where the descent is worrisome, we didn't stay very long. The descent was also a blur, though it went faster than expected. Several bolted stations in the no. 2 gully greatly helped by keeping us out of the path of the inevitable rockfall. I think we did 6 30m raps total, about 3 in each gully. We paused on the "key ledge traverse" to oogle the Great Canyon in better light as we passed again: And also stopped to admire the Doorish part of the mountain as well. Anybody know that guy? I have to say that he's a legend, at least in my estimation. The routes he did, in the era that he did them, are truly astounding. He had a funny entry in the summit register talking about "a bit of an epic" he and Alex Cudkowicz had in June of 1988 where they ended up spending 2 unplanned bivies (in the rain!) establishing a route that they thought would go in a day. Yowza. Yeah, this should go in a day: But soon enough we were back at the easy slabs, scrambling down to the forest, the dirt gully, the forest, the gravel wash, the forest..... and then....BEER. Gear Notes: 60m twin rope, helmet, light rack to 2", leather gloves. Boots or approach shoes. Best to go after snow leaves the gullies Approach Notes: Middle Fork Road to gravel wash. Page 214 in Brown Fred has a great topo of the route/approach, which is all the experienced chossdawg needs.

Trip: Borah Peak - Southwest - "Chicken Out"- Ridge Trip Date: 06/29/2024 Trip Report: This past summer I went on a month long, 4300+ mile, road trip with the family all over the West. Mostly we were seeing National Parks that my wife and kids had never been to, but I managed to plan 3 state high points into the itinerary. Borah Peak (12,662') was the first up, coming after a tour through Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. As with all the state high points, Borah has an abundance of beta online so I'll spare you all the nerdy details and mostly share impressions and photos. First, I thought this was a peak worth doing. There is fantastic camping close by at the Joe Fallini Campground, which is cheap and right on a lake with decent swimming and fishing. This campground is about a 30m drive to the trailhead (if you don't blast past it like we did), which puts you in easy striking distance for an alpine start. The views start quickly and expand. There aren't a lot of trees in the Lost River Range and it was fun to see an entirely different range where I basically knew none of the summits. Soon we were up above treeline and the aptly named "Chicken Out" ridge came into view: As did Mt. Morrison: At the base of the knife edge portion of the ridge, my wife and youngest opted to turn back but surprisingly my oldest stuck right on my tail. I had a quick chat with him to make sure he understood that while it wasn't overly difficult (exposed 3rd/4th class), a fall would likely be very, very bad. He said he was fine and was moving calmly and confidently, and so we continued upward. Where the knife edge ends, there was a small snow saddle to cross. Again, not hard, but with a terrible and steep runout. Again, another chat. This time I insisted in tying on a 30m length of 6mm cord I had brought so as to keep my son from a very long ride should he slip out of the steps and not arrest. Of course, he was fine, but I felt better with the added security. And then the real slogging began. We were over 11k with the summit in sight, and surprisingly all by ourselves. My son began to slow way down in the thin air. It was by far the highest he had ever been but appeared to be in good spirits and so we just kept chugging upwards. And then, we made it, finding one other dude up there taking a nap. I think we may have surprised him. We hung around in excellent weather for at least an hour, reading the register, taking in the views, and generally enjoying a perfect day on a high peak. It doesn't get much better! But, of course, all good things must end and so we turned around to begin the 5k+ of downward staggering. Here's a view back at the summit after we had dropped about 1500': And then to reverse Chicken Out Ridge.... of which I was a bit nervous for my son, but he of course thought that it was all just a great adventure: Looking back at the upper mountain from just above treeline: We finished the day back at Joe Fallini Campground, treated to a beautiful sunset as the cattle lowed in the distance. The next day we would begin the trek SE to King's Peak in Utah for a 4th of July Ascent (in the next installment!)... Gear Notes: Poles, helmet (optional), crampons/axe if snowy Approach Notes: The trailhead is located north of Mackay, Idaho along US-93. Look for the signed turn between Mile Markers 129 and 130. Drive to the end of the road where there is camping and an outhouse. It is a bit grungy there, however, and much preferred BLM's Joe Fallini Campground close by.